Lace
by MomoOfficial
Summary: Chell was by no means a vain girl, but now she was finally allowed to have clothes that made her feel feminine. Innocent-verse Wheatley/Chell.
1. Lace

It was originally a hunt for food, but Chell was nothing if not inquisitive.

She found the store deep in the town, on a street she had always been a little curious about but hadn't gone to see. The light pink doorframe had caught her attention, but the display case mannequins had kept it.

She opened the front door. A bell chimed.

She paused.

Frilly things were everywhere, in all colors and shapes and sizes: naughty little slips of fabric she had never seen, and which were so very different from Aperture's regulation clothing and her own scavenged wardrobe.

The door closed with a heavy _thunk_ behind her. Chell's eyes widened as she paced display cases and shelves. She paused to admire a mannequin that wore nothing but a black garter belt and stockings.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she _knew_ what all of these things were for, knew from the seductive eyes of the women in pictures on the walls that this was a place for more _intimate_ underthings, underwear she had never been allowed to have and, until now, saw no use for.

She paused over a table in the middle, rubbed a piece of silken cloth between her fingertips.

Good thing she was alone.

On an impulse, she grabbed the piece of silk she was touching, along with several others on the table. She made quick work of the store, piling bras and garters and stockings and underwear of all kinds into her arms before she could stop and think about it.

She kicked down the door to a dressing room and spent a good amount of time trying things on, discovering what fit her and what didn't, what felt best and what felt (and looked) awful. She went through silk, lace, cotton, all unbelievably soft fabrics, such a stark contrast to the plain underwear she had taken from other abandoned stores in town. Aperture's scratchy, ill-fitting, regulation clothing hadn't even come _close_ to this.

After a while, she stood in front of the floor length mirror in a full ensemble, the result of much trial and error. It was ornate lace with silken stockings, all of it in a gentle pink not unlike the pink of the store's outer doorframe. It had taken her some time, but she had figured out how to wear a garter belt and stockings properly. The bra and panties fit wonderfully.

She pivoted back and forth in front of the mirror, admiring how she looked with not a little awe. If this were a normal day, and if she were still the lab rat that had eaten through Aperture from the inside, she would have laughed. There were bigger things to worry about than how a waistline hugged her curves.

But she _had_ curves now that she was eating and resting and really, truly living, and she had never gotten to wear things like this in her life. She liked to stay sharp, but she was amazed to see something other than what was strictly needed on her.

Chell was by no means a vain girl, but now she was finally allowed to have clothes that made her feel feminine.

He was going to love them.

She saw her cheeks turn red through the mirror, and she quickly undid the entire getup and stuffed it into the very bottom of her backpack. Chell dressed and left the piles of clothing in the dressing room, walking out of the store at a quick pace.

When she got home, Wheatley bounded up to her with his usual set of questions.

First: "How was the trip?"

Next, before she could answer: "Find anything interesting?"

Then: "Anything useful?"

Finally: "Anything for me?"

All said in quick succession before she had even removed her shoes.

She smiled and brought the bag to the couch, where she removed everything one by one, taking care not to remove or let show the pink lace and silk at the bottom.

* * *

Chell put her ensemble in a drawer and forgot about it until they discovered a battery-powered record player on a scavenging trip.

After some tweaking, they got it running in the same room they had found it in. A crackly woman's voice filled the air, singing in a language neither of them could recognize. The song was slow, and through the damaged record the woman's voice rang out, triumphant and full of energy.

Wheatley stood next to it, his hands clasped in front of him, a smile on his face. "Humans can be nice, sometimes," he said to her, "when they're making things like this. Being creative and all."

She reached out and stopped the record, then hefted up the machine and the record with it. He perked up.

"You want to take it back, love?"

Chell nodded.

Once they got home, she placed the record player near the fireplace. Wheatley knelt next to her and reached for the player's needle again, but she covered his hand with her own before he could start the song. He looked up at her, his brows furrowing.

"What, you don't like that one?"

She shook her head and pulled her paper and pencil from her pocket.

_Let's do something special tonight._

"Like what?" Wheatley tilted his head, then grinned and leaned in towards her, as if he had a good secret to share. "I can use the good pasta for dinner if that's what you're on about."

She laughed. _Well, make that, and we'll go for a walk. Then we can listen to the song again, together._

Wheatley leaned back on his heels. "You mean like a…like those things humans do…a date?"

_Yes, exactly like that._

His eyes were wide and bright. "That sounds brilliant."

* * *

That afternoon, she was digging around in her dresser for an outfit when her fingers brushed lace for the first time in two weeks.

Chell lifted the bra out of the drawer. She daintily held it out in front of her and examined it, then looked down at the rest of the ensemble.

She backed out into the hallway and looked down the stairs. In the living room, Wheatley was already waiting, wearing a forest-green sweater and blue jeans she had found for him. He was trying in vain to get a cowlick to lay flat.

She retreated into her room and closed the door, smiling to herself.

Chell put the ensemble on underneath a loose grey sweater, jeans, and some old rain boots, and walked downstairs to join him.

* * *

He gave her a plate of pasta ("as promised") and sat shoulder-to-shoulder with her and stuttered nonsense while she ate.

He told her how lovely she looked, how he liked the sweater, how he _really_ liked his sweater, how it was a little itchier than the jumpsuit but he could manage because this was their first date and he wanted it to be special and he wanted to look dashing for her, how excited he was to do something new like this, and with her.

They went out just as the sun was setting and ambled in the middle of the road, picking their way through trash. The outside light turned from white to vivid gold over time. They wore heavy coats against the chill and walked side-by-side.

His hand nudged hers. She stopped and looked down at it, one eyebrow raised.

He looked down with her. His cheeks turned pink. The hand in question had a slight tremor running through it.

"I thought…though that…since this was a date, we could, um…"

The tips of his fingers pushed between hers and paused.

He had touched her, unwound her, been with her at her most vulnerable, and yet he was still afraid to hold hands.

She laughed lightly, then fully intertwined their fingers and squeezed his hand. He sighed with obvious relief and kissed her fingers. "Thank you, love."

They kept walking, hand-in-hand this time.

Chell took him to the top of the highest building standing; it was in good condition and sturdy, so they could go to the balcony without fear.

He leaned over the edge, mouth open, and she kept an arm out in front of him while he took in the view.

"Man alive," he muttered as he stared at the distant wheat fields at the edge of the city. "I think it's my imagination, but I think…I think I see the shed, too."

Far beyond the dollhouse-silhouette of the space ship was, indeed, a dot on the horizon. She followed his pointer finger to it and narrowed her eyes.

He slowly lowered his hand. "Let's not go back there."

She nodded once.

He straightened up and looked down at her. Chell removed her arm from in front of him and wrapped it around his waist. She leaned her head against his shoulder; he rested his head atop hers.

They stood together, gazing out towards the wheat fields.

* * *

They picked their way back to the house. Wheatley swung their intertwined hands back and forth, and Chell walked beside him, grinning.

"Wait," he said, and, without warning, tugged her into the narrow doorway of a shop. Chell felt herself being yanked and shuffled around until her body was inches from his in the tiny doorframe.

He looked down at her; they made eye contact, and he turned slightly pink. "I, uh…"

She tilted her head, pursing her lips and furrowing her brows with confusion.

He put his hands on her cheeks and ducked down to kiss her. She laughed against his mouth and put her hands on his waist. Her fingers slipped under his sweater, guided by some playful instinct, and tickled his skin.

He pulled away and smiled, wide and warm, at her. His thumbs rubbed slow circles against her cheeks.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him again.

* * *

Wheatley darted in front of her to open the front door. The sun was almost completely down, and indigo was beginning to creep across the sky, along with the faded pinks and purples of sunset. The stars were coming out.

They removed their coats. She lit a fire while he fiddled with the record player. After some muffled cursing and banging against the sides, the machine sputtered to life again. The woman's voice, still scratchy and in that strange foreign language, filled the room, singing the same song as before.

Wheatley began to settle on the floor, but Chell walked towards him and reached out both hands. He raised his eyebrows and took her hands, then shrieked as she hoisted him up to his feet.

"_Aah_! What are you….why are you…"

She held one of his hands and lifted it up into the air. She wrapped her other arm around his waist. She began to sway back and forth in time with the music.

"Oh…" He wrapped his arm around her waist. They stepped closer together; Wheatley caught the beat and swayed with her. The record spun on.

He leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes.

"This is a right lovely date, this," he mumbled. She looked up at him. His eyebrows were raised, and he blinked, as if sleepy, down at her. He gave her a toothy smile.

"I mean, as far as dates go, I-I'm the expert on those, you know. And I will say in my expert opinion that this is the best date I have ever been on. Ever. In my life."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he grinned even wider and wrapped his arms around her waist. The room was warm from the fire, and Chell smiled as he kissed her forehead and pulled her against him.

The music built to a crescendo, then faded away into silence.

As if on cue, Wheatley stopped. Chell stumbled and caught herself on him.

"I'm so sorry, really, I am," he said as he steadied her. "I didn't…did I ruin that for you?"

She couldn't shake her head vigorously enough.

"Good, because I…" He sighed and looked down at his boots. "Because I'd hate…I'd hate to ruin a good thing."

Chell ruffled his hair, and he sighed again, then looked up at her with a smile.

She bit her lip and smiled back. He leaned in closer to her.

"Okay, now, listen, here," he said, and pressed his nose against hers. His voice had a coy lilt in it. "I have been, well, watching you this entire time, see, not the…the _entire _time I've been here in this house with you, although I guess that's technically true…but no, I've been watching you during this entire date, and I have to say that you look absolutely ravishi- _fine_, perfectly fine, very lovely and beautiful and I haven't…haven't been looking places I shouldn't, I…I haven't at all, just been looking at your beautiful, perfect, lovely face."

His eyes swept around the room, looking anywhere but at her as his cheeks glowed a bright pink. She trembled with silent laughter. His bravado was waning, and she stroked his cheek to encourage him.

"And, uh, I couldn't help but notice that…that tonight you're even _lovelier_ than you normally are, which is _really_ saying something, let me tell you, because lovely for you on a daily basis is pretty much the best." He laughed. "And I want to…I don't know, just…be here forever? Just on a forever date? Because if it means you can keep being lovely and here with me in…in itchy sweaters, then that would just make my entire life. My entire life, alright? Not kidding around here."

She nodded. He exhaled, then raised his eyebrows, his hands resting at the crook of her back.

"Bet I could make you feel twice as lovely as you look," he mumbled, the flush on his cheeks deepening. He gave her a small smile.

Chell responded by holding his head and pressing her lips to his; Wheatley eagerly reciprocated. His body was warm under his sweater and pants, and she let him slip his fingers, which were trembling with excitement, under her sweater.

Then his hands went still.

He pulled away from her with furrowed brows, his eyes turned towards the ceiling. He was playing with something around her hips. His eyebrows rose, and his mouth made a little "o" of surprise.

Without warning he looked back down at her body and lifted up part of her sweater, moving the hemline of her jeans out of the way to get a better look.

A bit of lace peeked out. Her eyes widened.

Oh God, the underwear. She had forgotten about it.

Before she could react he tugged up on her sweater, silently begging for permission. She nodded and let him undress her, and found herself standing in nothing but the pink ensemble in less than a minute.

Wheatley took several steps back, clutching her clothes to his chest like a shield.

His eyes raced up and down her body.

Then he let out a quiet, high-pitched, very weak laugh.

Chell looked down at the floor and kicked at it with one stockinged heel, a half-smile on her face.

He crept towards her again and gently touched the bra, then the sides of the garter belt, then the sides of the panties. He knelt on the floor in front of her and ran his hands up and down the sides of her legs, making her shiver.

Then he stood. He was grinning, and he spread his arms towards her.

"You look…this is…"

He spluttered, and Chell realized she had shocked him speechless. She covered her mouth and laughed as the flush in his cheeks turned from dark pink to bright red and spread to his ears.

Wheatley reached out and fingered a strap of the bra.

"May I?" he whispered, and she nodded.

To her surprise, he didn't remove the underwear. Instead, he pulled her close and ran his hands over the clothing, taking his time going from her skin to the lace and back again. Chell looked up at him and saw his eyes hyper-focused on her body, his teeth nibbling at his lower lip, the loud hum of his internal CPU telling her that he was recording the feeling of lace against her skin.

He pressed his mouth to the top of her head, his hands still roaming across her body. "This is just…this is just tremendous. I never knew. Fooled me, you did. Fooled old Wheatley to the shed and back."

She walked backwards to the couch, curling a finger towards him. He slowly followed after her, his eyes wide with a childlike wonder.

She grabbed him by the front of his sweater, and the wonder briefly turned to fear, until she gently pushed him onto the couch and climbed on top of him.

He craned his head back and laughed as she kissed his neck. His hands stroked her spine. "This has got to be the best date _ever_, if this happens on dates. Does this always happen on dates? Because if it does, we are going on more dates, let me tell you."

He picked her up and set her down on the floor. He stood. "Go on, lie down."

She grinned and did as he asked. He scrambled onto the couch with her. She closed her eyes while he scattered clumsy, sloppy kisses on her cheeks, her neck, her chest. He worked his way down to her stomach and blew a raspberry against it, causing her to buck upwards with silent, breathless laughter. He moved upwards and leaned his forehead against hers.

"This is tremendous, doing these things to you," he whispered to her while she caught her breath. She smiled softly and giggled while she reached up and stroked behind his ears. "You're all…oh God, now you're looking lovely and laughing _at the exact same time_. Not…not sure how it's possible to be that superb all at once, but you're doing it right now, as we speak."

He nuzzled her cheek and began kissing her cheeks and neck again, this time going slowly for her. She buried her fingers in his blond hair and watched him as he touched the lace undergarments with awe.

"Were these for me, love?"

She thought for a moment. The clothes weren't, really, they were for her so she could feel feminine and, perhaps, normal. They were a little bit of rebellion that reached deeper than her own house and warm food in her belly and getting to sleep without being plagued by nightmares. The lace softened the scars on her back and the stockings hid the scratches and bullet wounds.

But he looked so eager, and his eyes were a brighter blue than they were normally, and he had been so excited when she first showed him. She had thought of him while she had put them on for the first time, and how happy he became when he knew she was happy with herself and with him.

Yes, in a way, this was as much for him as it was for her.

She nodded and rubbed the top of his head. He grinned.

"Then this night's all for you."


	2. Silk

There was a rustling noise coming from downstairs.

Chell sat up in bed, clutching her head with one hand and leaning on her other arm's elbow. She blinked in the early morning sunlight. In the chill of late winter, the sheets felt warm against her bare skin. The unheated air of the house nipped at her shoulders and breasts.

One of Wheatley's awkward-looking paper cranes sat perched on her bedside table, but the robot himself was nowhere to be seen. It was not unusual for him to leave the bed in the middle of the night (he didn't sleep, after all), but the rustling from the ground floor was peaking her curiosity.

Chell slipped out of bed. She reached for a tattered bathrobe hanging off an old coat-hanger. The rough fabric wasn't exactly comfortable, but it had been a lucky find; it kept her from freezing when the weather got like this.

Muffled cursing came from down below. Chell stopped, mid-step, and raised an eyebrow. She padded towards the stairs, one hand holding her robe closed, to listen.

"Bloody thing won't fit," she heard Wheatley mutter. "If…if I could just…get this clasp working…"

Her eyes widened. She crept downstairs.

Wheatley was standing in the living room, his back to her. He was hunched over something, grumbling to himself while he fussed over it. Chell's eyes swept up and down his body, and she giggled to herself: he was standing, almost completely naked, with one of her stockings bunched up around his ankle.

Her panties were pulled up awkwardly around his jutting hipbones. They most certainly didn't fit.

She walked to him and tapped his shoulder. He jumped into the air and screamed.

After a pause, he turned around slowly. His eyes were wide with guilt, and his whole body curled to hide what was in his hands, his face turning an impressive shade of crimson.

She raised an eyebrow and pointed to it.

"I don't want you to see," he mumbled.

She rolled her eyes and smiled gently at him before pointing again.

He looked her up and down, then slowly unfurled his hands to reveal her garter belt.

"I couldn't get it to fit," he said, his voice quiet. She leaned forward to listen to him. "I just…it all looked so good on _you _that I wanted to…um, give it a go myself."

Wheatley looked away from her and stared at the empty fireplace. His cheeks and ears were still burning a bright red. "Are you mad at me?"

Chell stared at him.

Then she laughed.

At first, he cringed away from her. He let out a gasp when she, in response, enfolded him in her arms and squeezed. A nervous laugh escaped him.

"You're not angry?" he asked when she finally let go.

Chell retrieved her pencil and paper from the side table near the couch and wrote: _No, of course not._

She hesitated. Shyness rose up in her, and she averted her eyes. Wheatley tilted his head and leaned towards her, his eyes questioning. One hand was nervously picking at the ill-fitting underwear he was wearing.

_Want me to_

She bit her lip and raised her pencil.

"Go on, love," Wheatley said slowly.

_Want me to find you something?_

She continued: _I found a store, and that's where I got what you're wearing now._

Wheatley shrunk away from her, a sheepish smile playing on his face.

_It has more underwear in it, if that's what you want._

"You'd do that for me?" he whispered.

She grinned and nodded.

Wheatley turned his eyes to the ceiling, deep in thought. After a few minutes of thinking, he looked down at the stockings in his hand. One thumb gently stroked the fabric. The sheepish smile on his face widened.

"Okay," he said finally. "I trust you, love."

* * *

After Chell got dressed, she put her empty bag over her shoulder and took Wheatley's hand.

He trailed after her in the streets, asking one question, over and over: "Where are we going?"

She turned and flashed a smile at him, playfully rolling her eyes. At first, he looked a little hurt and nervously babbled apologies to her, and she had to stop and give him a peck on the cheek to reassure him that no, she didn't think he was being annoying. After a while, his questioning became joking, as evidenced by the enormous smile that spread across his face whenever she looked back at him.

He fell silent, however, when she finally opened the door to the shop and led him inside.

His blue eyes grew wider as he took in the lace, the silk, all the colors and fabrics; she heard his CPU kicking into overdrive. He seemed reluctant to let go of her hand, preferring instead to hide behind her, as if the corsets and stockings on the walls would lash out at him at any moment.

Chell took a pair of panties off a shelf and handed them to him. He winced at her outstretched hand, then, after a minute, took them delicately into his own hands. He stared at the underwear, mouth slightly open.

She brushed his shoulder and, when he looked up, gestured to the other panties on the rack, then jabbed a finger at him.

A smile crept onto his face. His eyes turned a brighter shade of blue.

Within minutes, he was tearing through the store like she had the first time she found it; his mouth went nonstop as he eagerly pawed through lingerie. Too-small panties and too-big bras littered the wood-paneled floor like confetti, marking his excited path through the wonderful world of ladies' underwear.

"Do you think the brown would look good on me, love? Too gloomy? What about grey? I think I should dismiss the bright orange, to be honest, too "test subject" for me, not enough _oomph_. How about this? It has little ribbons that go up the sides! Isn't that just charming? I think it's delightful. Oh, I think this would _really_ suit you. White would look stupendous. Can we both get white? Love? Please?"

Chell looked up from the stockings she was slowly parsing through.

Wheatley had made his winding way through the store and now stood in front of her. Two pairs of matching white silk panties were in his hands; one was bigger than the other.

She turned to face him and touched the smaller pair.

"You like that, don't you?" he said. He leaned down to catch her eye. "White would look fantastic. Just my opinion." He gave her a nervous grin. "Not much, seeing…seeing as you're the expert on all of this frilly…frilly stuff, and I don't know much about it, but, um…"

He trailed off and looked down at the panties, his grin fading. A shame crept into his eyes; a sudden embarrassment was now finally coming over him, a realization that he was, perhaps, out-of-place here. Chell watched as his eyes swept up to the women on the walls and, in turn, his mouth turned further downward.

She smiled and took the white underwear in her own hands. He looked down at her and straightened up, his eyes becoming big with hope.

With one arm wrapped around his, she led him over to another rack of underwear.

Next to the white underwear he had chosen was its duplicate in black. She gestured to the black, then to herself. She gestured to the white, then to him.

He swallowed, and stuttered briefly. His nervous smile re-appeared. "Y-y-you'd look t-tremendous in black."

A pause.

"Do you think…the white works for…for me, love?"

She gave him a gentle peck on the cheek and moved to fetch matching white stockings for him.

* * *

Chell headed for the dressing room with him in tow, but Wheatley, instead, moved towards the door, his lingerie ensemble in his arms. He tugged on her hand.

"I want to head back," he said, his cheeks pink. "I…I want to give all this a spin with you."

Her responding smile was shy, and she let him lead her home.

* * *

Wheatley unceremoniously stripped down in the living room the second the door closed. In the light of the setting sun, his body was thrown into stark detail: the smooth, pale skin, the blue glow of his chest, the wires in his back, the flexing artificial muscle now being decorated by white, gold-threaded silk and lace.

The panties were a tough fit on him, but after some awkward hand-down-fabric re-arranging and some flushed cheeks and tightened ribbons, they fit. A few more clasps later, and he was standing in front of her, in bra and panties and stockings and garter belt, looking a bashful vision in white.

In return, he dressed her; up went the black stockings, up went the black gold-threaded garter belt that matched his. After some fumbling and muffled swearing, he successfully closed her bra. He hastily finger-combed her hair into place and then stepped away.

She stood in front of him, an equally bashful vision in black.

The two eyed each other, then looked down and away, shy smiles on each of their faces. The silence of the house was total. She bit her lip; he wrung his hands behind his back.

After a minute, Chell felt tugging on her garter belt. She looked up.

On making eye contact with her, Wheatley stopped tugging and stepped forward, closing the gap between their bodies. He leaned down and touched his forehead to hers, wrapping his arms around her waist. She sighed and pressed her body against his in response.

Her hand crept down to his clothed hip; she brushed the fabric with the very tips of her fingers and looked up at him, raising her eyebrows. He gave her a peck between the eyes.

"You can touch me," he whispered gently to her, a big smile on his face. "Go on, love. I'm letting you."

She smiled up at him, then looked down at his body. The blue, gently-pulsing light of his chest illuminated the translucent white, making the ensemble glow. She ran her hands across his chest, across the silk and lace bra, and then trailed them over his sides and down to his hips. He laughed softly.

"Do I look alright?" he asked. She looked up at him again and grinned.

Chell tilted her head and pressed her lips gently on the skin of Wheatley's neck. Wheatley gasped and tilted his head back; his fingers pressed into the small of her back. She brushed the wires on his back with one hand, and he sighed; in response, she slid her other hand's fingers just under his silk panties, pressed them against the artificial hipbones, and continued to kiss his neck. She traced languid designs on the black plastic of his spine.

"You're fantastic," he breathed. She smiled and gave him a peck on the lips, withdrawing her hands. "We match now. I'm so happy, I couldn't be happier, I really couldn't. I feel excellent, and you look excellent, and…and I'm just over-the-moon, love!"

He gave her a rib-crushing hug,. She giggled as she hugged him back with equal strength.

Once they settled again, he lifted her up and carried her upstairs to her bed, moving slowly so as not to slip on his stocking feet. In her room, he closed the door quietly behind them, and leaned down to brush his lips against hers.

There was slow, gentle kissing, and noses rubbing, and quiet exploration of bodies, the rubbing of white silk and black lace against bare skin. She traced the line of his stocking up one leg, feeling the buttery-soft fabric against the smoothness of the silicone, and was rewarded with tender pecks just under her jawline. He shifted the hemline of her panties so he could press his mouth against her lower belly, leaving a soft, warm trail of kisses that made her sigh and feel as if she was melting into the bed; she went back to stroking his spine, and he grinned and rubbed his cheek against her tummy. Wheatley moved with a newfound confidence, something quieter and gentler than his usual bravado; it was as if the lingerie simultaneously contained him and freed him, made him feel handsome and, at the same time, calm. He had essentially dressed himself; she had only shown him how.

And when he looked up at her and rested his chin against her stomach and grinned at her, she saw in his eyes that he had been able to make a decision for himself and he was very, very happy about it.

"Feeling good?" he asked her. She nodded and ran her hand through his hair. He caught her hand.

Her breath hitched as he pressed her palm to his cheek and nuzzled it. His eyes fluttered closed, and he sighed. Chell watched his toes curl.

"Me too."

Outside, it had begun to snow.


End file.
